Compliments
by ThePrincessBride14
Summary: Draco lists down reasons why he loves Hermione.


**Title: Compliments  
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**Rating: T**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. HP belongs to Rowling.  
**

**Summary: Draco lists down reasons why he loves Hermione.  
**

**Notes: Yes, I know. Another story. But you ought to know, the eel was derived from this. But there is no eel reference here. ahaha. :) Just pure fluff. I'm just trying to finish every unfinished story, since I'm going to be occupied starting Monday. Ah, college. :) Please review. **

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**1. I love you for your big and ugly hair.**

Face it, Granger. Your hair is ugly and very big, humungous in fact. It's so big that a colony of rats can live in it. And it's very brown too. I personally hate brown; I think it looks like shit. I also hate the idea that you think it's better than mine. I know for a fact that you think my hair is pretty, but I made a mistake of telling you how beautiful it really is since you've never brought it up again. I hate it whenever you reprimand me for grabbing it when I'm fucking you. I love grabbing it when I'm fucking you. So, with that having been said, you ought to allow me by now. Your hair smells wonderful by the way, and I have to admit, it smells better than mine.

**2. I love the fact that you can't dress yourself. **

You dress like a blind man. Whenever we go out on dates, I always check your dresser three days before. It's a mystery to me on why you never wondered why I always ask you to go shopping with me just before a date. I laugh at how you think that dressing up with clothes (that should be mine), _minus the cheap fabric and a suspecting stain_, looks wonderful on you. It doesn't really. It makes you look like a man. It hides your curves, and I hate that. I also hate the fact that you think the dresses I pick for you to wear is nothing but a measly opportunity for me to look at your breasts. Well, it is. But only partly, I pick them because I think you look smashing in them. You usually shrug me off and tell me that I'm too vain. I don't mind, I am vain, and I still think you're beautiful. Just don't wear man clothes.

**3. ** **I love that you can cook but choose not to. **

I am a neglected boyfriend. Its three nights in a row that I'm eating what you call 'microwaveable' meals, they taste like shit, Granger. I hate it so much that I throw in bits and pieces of it for Crookshanks to munch on. The poor guy likes them anyway. I hate when you say that you're busy with work and that I'm a grown man and should fend for myself. I can fend for myself, mind you. But I like it when you prepare my meals. And no, it is not a clever excuse for me to be lazy. Though you have to admit, it is a good reason. You always choose not to cook until a bloody minimum of three days. I actually have become accustomed to it, and since then I have looked forward to every three days for your meals. I know that you notice my apparent joy over them, because you always sit on my lap and kiss me after I'm done eating. And almost instantly, you become dessert.

**4. I love that you 'hate' flowers. **

I remember our first Valentine's Day together. You kept nagging me about how you don't want to receive flowers or do anything special. I felt dejected at first, but then again you're Granger. You're not like most girls, or at least you think of it that way. You nagged so much, so I didn't give flowers nor did anything special. You came home from work as usual, but I didn't miss that devastated look in your face. I think you struggled to work up a smile at me and went to bed quietly. I followed suit, and because you made me feel like a jerk, I couldn't sleep. I closed my eyes for ten minutes, and that's when I heard you cry. I pretended not to hear because I wouldn't want to work you up over it. Since then on, every February 14th, I give you flowers and try to go out of my way to surprise you. And every Valentine's Day, you still nag. I still pretend to be asleep, but this and every time, I hear you whisper thank you and kiss me. I hate and love the fact that you can't tell me you liked them after all.

**5. I love that you always sleep with a book on your face and that you read 'serious' books.**

You're picture worthy when you sleep. I don't get how you do it, but I chuckle every time at the advent of your snoozes. You always have a book sitting on your face, and I always stare at you for a full two seconds before setting it aside on the bed side table. After the first night of me on your bed, I asked you about it. You said that you liked smelling it and you usually fall asleep with it. You're weird, Granger. But then again, you always have been.

So, like every other night, you sleep with a book on your face. But this time, I didn't set it aside. I looked on the cover, and said it was a book by a muggle named Michel Foucault. I went through twenty-five pages, and learned that he wrote something along the lines of _rippling muscles _and _wide abandon in total ecstasy. _To make you happy and even more spoiled, I bought you a volume two of the same book, strange, he didn't write anything about what I have just read last night. And just to make sure I had the right author, I showed it to a muggle girl in the bookstore. She laughed and said it was a Harlequin romance. You owe me an explanation.

And oh, I hate the fact that you read those things, as far as I'm concerned, I'm already fantasy come true.

**6. I love that you think you're fat.**

You always stare at the mirror in your bra and knickers. And I always see your right hand cradling a roll of fat between your palm and fingers. Even though you don't think I do, I always hear you sigh softly with disappointment. If you haven't eaten too much, it would probably be not there. I hate that you ask me if I think you're fat, truth is: you are. Okay, don't start throwing things at this point, Granger. I don't mean it that way. I can always tell that you packed on a few pounds, but I hardly ever care. You can even look like Crabbe and I wouldn't mind. Well, maybe just a little bit. It hardly matters; because I love showing you that I still think you're sexy. In fact, you have used your fat to shag me silly from time to time. Then again, I don't really care. I love shagging you silly.

**7. I love that you pretend not to cry at weddings.**

You should have seen yourself during Potter and she-Weasley's wedding. Your make up was running, and you hastily wiped a tear at bay. Before I could talk to you about it, you told me to shut it and that you weren't crying. You did the same thing on Lovegood and Longbottom's wedding ceremony. You told me to shut it again and that you're not crying. I got to hand it you, Granger. You suck at pretending. I've gotten used to it since you practically do it at every wedding we attend. I don't get you, but I always have that proverbial white handkerchief, complete with the Malfoy crest, at your beck and call. I know your pattern of crying, before they say I do, your shoulders heave a bit. And then you burst out crying, you place your head at that space between my neck and shoulder, and rub your face in it, complete with your running make-up and snot. I have to pretend to comfort you, but it's so silly that it's failing my acting as well. And even though I can't hear your thoughts, I have always known that you're wondering when were going to have one of our own.

Which leads me to this…

**8. I love that you thought I was never going to commit.**

I overheard you and she-Weasley talking about it during the reception. You said that you were waiting for me to pop the question and that you don't think it's going to happen anytime soon. Honestly, I'm wounded Granger. We have been together for a little over three years, and I have put up with your silly quirks every now and then, and you still think that I wouldn't commit. I am aghast. So for that, I decided to teach you a lesson. The moment we came home, I intentionally dropped a hint that I would never want to get married. And right on schedule, I saw your devastated face. It was night time, so I told you that I was going to bed. You didn't join me until after thirty minutes, and I noticed that your eyes were bloodshot, your nose red. I almost felt sorry, but I opted to stick to my plan.

I've waited for you to fall asleep, I tried to hug you, but consciously or unconsciously, you pushed me away. Unperturbed, I commenced my plan straight away. I have been writing this bloody mushy stuff five hours ago.

It's nearly dawn now. And all I can ever think about is how much I love you, including all your little quirks and how amazing you are. Screw this Granger; you know I don't write this way. But I wanted you to know that I want to stay with you, and I'm not taking anything shorter than forever.

I will leave this note on our bedside table, near to your 'Michel Foucault' book. I'll be downstairs, waiting for your answer.

I love you.

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